


I’m Not Dead—(but i may as well be)

by unlitstars



Series: all those moonless nights [1]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Angst, Death, Death Fic, Drabble-esque, I am so sorry, M/M, Please don’t kill me, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-24 22:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlitstars/pseuds/unlitstars
Summary: It was over. It was all over.





	I’m Not Dead—(but i may as well be)

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry.
> 
> Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own Detective Conan or Magic Kaito, I don’t—otherwise there would be a hell lot more of Kaito and his heists—as it belongs to Gosho Aoyama.

He donned his cape, slipping into the persona he had oh-so-carefully crafted.

_Just another heist, huh._

 

─────────────

 

He stole the gem, as usual.

He led the police on a merry chase, as usual.

He evaded capture, as usual. 

He didn’t get caught, he had his heist target, he messed around with his Task Force, then why—

Why, oh _why_ , did he feel so empty inside?

 

─────────────

 

He burst out onto the rooftop, his white - _why was it white, why was it white, just like—no, no, don’t_ \- cape billowing behind him. 

He held the gem up under the moonlight, its brilliant colours twinkling under the light doing nothing, absolutely nothing, to lift his sombre mood.

No red doublet. 

_Again._

No Pandora.

_Again._

He turned, hoping to catch sight of a familiar pair of cerulean eyes. 

Deserted rooftop.

_Again._

It was a force of habit, he reasoned, it was just habit.

It wasn’t that he wanted to see him, not at all. 

The white phantom disappeared without a trace, like a breath of air on a cold morning.

 

─────────────

 

He continued on with his life.

Find, plan, steal. Rinse and repeat.

But the days seemed long and drawn out, the days void of happiness, void of love.

He was shrouded in this bone-deep sadness, sunk in this knee-deep weariness. 

He couldn’t seem to leave that all behind.

What was it all for?

_Help me, Shinichi._

 

─────────────

 

He walked into his classroom, footsteps silent on the floorboards.

He ignored the concerned glances from Aoko, he ignored the worried looks from Hakuba, he ignored the confused stares from Akako.

What did she know about love, anyway? 

He sat down in his seat, the class eerily quiet. Eyes darted quickly to the class prankster and then back to the blackboard, holding their breath.

Why were they all doing that? 

He was fine.

 

─────────────

 

He sometimes felt like he was breathing underwater, drowning in his memories, drowning in the hazy blue sea.

He sometimes felt like he was falling from the skies, plunging to his death, crashing into the truth that he didn’t want to face. 

He sometimes felt like he was lost, so inexplicably lost.

He was lost without his guiding light, his star, his jewel, his world, his _everything_. 

_Shinichi, why won’t you come back?_

 

───────────── 

 

He was on Life’s stage, a puppet, controlled by the invisible strings of fate that not even _Akako_ had control over. 

He wished she had. He wished _he_ had, he wished he had the power to turn back the sands of time.

He wished he had some way - _any way, someone please, please help me_ \- of cheating fate.

If only.

If only he could. 

But it was too late now.

 

───────────── 

 

He smiled, through the brief flashes of pain that littered his days, through the nights where he could never seem to get any sleep, through the heists that meant almost nothing to him. 

_Poker Face, Poker Face, Poker Face._

It was a mantra, something to keep him anchored now that Shinichi couldn’t, something familiar. 

_Poker Face, Poker Face, Poker Face._

But instead of being his anchor, those words were shackles, snaking up and around his limbs. 

Even with his years of practice, he couldn’t escape, couldn’t break free.

_Poker Face, Poker Face, Poker Face._

 

─────────────

 

He always caught glimpses of someone that looked like Shinichi; cerulean eyes; well-defined jaw; distinctive cowlicks.

But he knew that it couldn’t be him, not any more.

It was impossible, after all.

But he couldn’t help but stare at their retreating back, holding onto that tiny flame of hope, and watching, inevitably, it was extinguished.

Every time.

 

───────────── 

 

He would be taken on a journey through his memories, through the photos, through the videos. 

He was used to that by now; this hollowness, this pain. 

He went on the journey anyway, if only to see the sunlight dance on Shinichi’s hair again, if only to hear the way he laughed, if only to feel the way his lips would ghost over his skin.

He knew that it would be more painful to go, than not going at all.

He knew, but he still went.

He was willing to take a moment’s happiness over a week of pain.

_Shinichi._

 

─────────────

 

He didn’t have a life, not really.

Not any more. 

He was just hellbent on finding Pandora.

Research, prepare, evade. Rinse and repeat.

His life wasn’t his life, not without Shinichi.

_Come back, please._

 

─────────────

 

He was trapped.

In his own promises, in his own attachments, in his own determination. 

So many things to consider, so many things to accomplish.

A little part of his mind questioned everything he did, everything he was doing, everything he wanted to do.

_Why?_

A long, long time ago, he thought, he could answer those questions immediately. For Shinichi, for his mother, for his friends, for the benefit of other people. 

A long, long time ago, when he was just living in a dream.

A long, long time ago wasn’t now.

He still wished it was.

 

───────────── 

 

He had always been a bit of a dreamer.

Dreaming up schemes and pranks for different purposes, experimenting.

He used to dream of magic, blue skies and a boy with sky-coloured, ocean-coloured eyes.

Then, his dreams became phantasms of security, but was quickly countered by the loving presence by his side.

Now, he dreamed of the same boy, lying on a deserted rooftop, crimson tainting the blue, blue of his eyes. 

He dreamed of the white, white face of his detective.

He dreamed of the white phantom shedding tears of anguish, then disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Every night, the same dream was replayed. 

Every night, he woke up screaming. 

_Shinichi!_

 

─────────────

 

He was being tortured.

Tortured by objects, places, people, memories. 

Sometimes, he fancied that he could see Shinichi just lurking in the corner of his vision, smiling a sad, sad smile, urging him to go on.

Sometimes, he couldn’t resist the urge to run to him and hold him in his arms again, sobbing, until he realised that he was nothing but a figment of his imagination. 

_I can’t do this any more, come back, come back, come back—_

 

───────────── 

 

He was scared. 

Scared of the future, scared of life. 

He never used to be this scared. 

Maybe he really was changing, huh? 

He was scared of how every new day, every time the sun rose, he would have to relive.

Relive through the memories, relearn how to act normal. 

Because every day, the emptiness of his life only seemed to grow stronger, draining away his will to live. 

He used to look forward to each brand new day, eager for the chance to thrive, to enhance. 

He was so happy.

_What’s happy again?_

 

───────────── 

 

He never used to have so much trouble discerning the differences between his masks, his disguises.

Each of his masks all seemed to merge into one, all his disguises into one. 

_Kaitou Kid._

He downplayed the persona for his friends, all disrupting and annoying; he couldn’t have Hakuba finding out his night job.

He was the persona for his mother, all feeling and mischievous; he couldn’t have her worrying about him, even though he thought that she already knew something was up, but she knew he wouldn’t say. 

He amplified the persona for the Task Force, all pranking and a thorn in their backside; he couldn’t have them concerned about an almost nameless phantom.

Kuroba Kaito was nothing but one of many featureless masks now.

He was only Kid. 

_Two people died on that rooftop, but only one of their bodies were found._

_Kuroba Kaito died along with Kudou Shinichi on that moonlit night._

 

─────────────

 

He found it.

He found the damned red gem.

Inside the black diamond that was almost fittingly named the ‘ _Death’s Embrace_ ’.

He wanted to cry, he wanted to let go of everything right then and there, because his father’s legacy was finally complete.

He was done.

 

─────────────

 

He was just a reflection on the gravestone, showering a rain of tears and gemstones.

“I found it, I found it, I found it—”

_I love you, I love you, I love you—_

It was all over.

 

─────────────

 

He watched as the crimson oozed from his wrists, and he had the insane urge to laugh hysterically.

It was over. It was all over.

All his dreams, his pain, his suffering, his love were all turned into dust, scattered in the wind, lost.

Lost.

Didn’t that describe him well, he wondered.

 

─────────────

 

Kaito smiled.

_I’ll be with Shinichi again._

That was all he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t start coming after me with pitchforks or other weapons. I really am sorry. I didn’t actually mean for Kaito to die. But it happened anyway. *starts crying in a corner*
> 
> Something nice ~~or two~~ will be posted tomorrow to make up for this.
> 
> ~~Okay, yes, maybe I was going to upload an exes!AU one-shot today, but I couldn’t finish it because I’m really stuck and somehow this fic happened when I got stuck so now you guys have this instead and I’m just going to leave now, sorry, bye.~~
> 
> Uh, hey, everyone.
> 
>  ~~I hope you’ve all enjoyed this fic.~~ *sobbing* I hope you all don’t hate me for writing this. Please leave any comments or suggestions in the comments section and I’ll try to reply.
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> P.S. Please be warned that I have school and homework to do, as it is my first priority, so don’t expect regular updates. I’ll try to update ASAP for everything but absolutely no promises.
> 
> P.P.S. I suck at tense so sorry for any random changes in tense, I’m _trying_ to get better at it. Emphasis on _trying_.


End file.
